Have you even had times when you're there at the page, pencil in hand, and nothing happens? That's what happened to me last night; there I was, ready, admiring the pretty picture of the day, and nothing, nada, nil, bupkis. The paper stayed blank and I turned off the light in disgust, despair, and disappointment. No right moment came at work today, so I decided to take advantage of the gorgeous, spring-like sunshine and warmth when I got home and sat on the porch to see if I'd have any luck. Lo and behold, a few words sneaked out the end of the pencil and landed on the page. Whew.
March 16--Santorini. The hot Greek sun beat down, pounding itself into the dark gray paving stones and reflecting off the whitewashed villa walls. The caretaker had painted the doors and railings a vivid blue that made the white look even whiter. Elaine paused to enjoy the red rose climbing beside the door each time she arrived, whether she had been away an hour, an afternoon, or a season. She measured her success by her ability to keep coming back to the island and this little slice of perfection. No matter how chaotic her life became the picture of this doorway and roses was always ready in her mind to smooth out the rough places and remind her why she worked so hard and put up with all the crap of corporate life.
It's not long and it's not wonderful, but it is writing.